


Brakes and Past Mistakes

by alicemaudmary (orphan_account)



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Drama, Hook-Up, M/M, Mechanics, More tags to be added, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6530119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/alicemaudmary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Instead of wondering when your next vacation is, maybe you should set up a life you don't need to escape from.” -Seth Godin</p>
<p>Just before mechanic Jim takes a vacation in New Orleans for an escape, a tiny man with a Nissan strolls in to get his brakes fixed. </p>
<p>He also turns Jim’s world upside down and threatens to bring back repressed memories and the feelings associated with them. Jim must decide whether or not he can heal, and therefore create a life that he doesn’t need to escape from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brakes and Past Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> This is AU. Slipknot and Stone Sour don't exist, etc. Graphic M/M. This is a different Jim from what I used to write, so I'm hoping it works well. This is the first half. There are some triggering stuff but that won't be until the second half. Characters own themselves. Anyway, I hope you like.

“I’m telling you—the guy was a complete stranger, just walked up and gave me the bag.” 

“Okay… what was in the bag?”

“Lots of Fruit Roll-ups.”

Jim Root sighs at that answer. Today has dragged on too much for him. He’s spent the last hour looking at the clock, which made the last hour drag on more. The customer in front of him inspects his four-year old Toyota before climbing in and starting the car. From the sound alone, a simple oil change made the difference, and the customer smiles.

“Anyway, thanks for the oil change, Root,” he speaks to Jim, who shivers as the cold wind blows inside the garage. “I’ll definitely come back if I need another one.” The customer’s already paid, and Jim would’ve been gone fifteen minutes ago if it weren’t for the customer's yapping about the homeless people he sees sometimes. Perhaps the customer’s lonely.

Jim shrugs. His shift’s up, and he wanted to wash his hands and face fifteen minutes ago.

The auto-shop, named _Dave’s AutoShop_ , is a three-garage shop owned by a Dave Schumacher. Business is average, but lay-offs have been rare in the four years Jim’s worked there. Besides, he won’t be there for a week, and one of the part-time employees is happy to finally get some hours by filling in for Jim.

Jim’s going on vacation, having booked a room months ago in New Orleans. He’s done packing everything. 

Another one of the part-time employees, Sid, is inspecting a grey Nissan’s brakes with the customer standing next to him. He figures since he won’t be seeing him for a week, he might as well say something to him before he leaves. 

Hands in his pockets, he walks over to his young co-worker and taps him on the shoulder. Sid blinks and turns around staring at him. The customer glances up at him, too.

“Just letting you know I’m leaving,” he tells Sid, who just smiles at him.

“Great!” Sid embraces him before pulling away. “I want pictures, all right?” 

Jim nods to that. Then, he just happens to glance at the customer staring at him. The guy looks older than Sid, but younger than Jim. The guy’s eyes widen before his facial expression softens, and a faint smile appears on his face. It’s as if he’s in awe of Jim, who just assumes the guy’s intimidated by his height. Like everyone else. Jim waves goodbye to Sid and, putting on his hat, walking to his car. 

Just before getting in and driving off in the slushy snow, he looks at the garage door where Sid’s at. Even though it’s as foggy as pea soup due to age and brown snow, the sight of the customer immediately turning away when caught looking at Jim is clear.   
____

Jim lives on the outskirts of Des Moines, to the north. The three-story complex’s one of the nicest apartments he’s ever lived in. Rent’s affordable, utilities not so much. The biggest problem with living there is that one has to drive through a series of small streets before going to a main road downtown. Since it’s been snowing quite a bit lately, and the city snow plow trucks will only do main and secondary streets, a thirty minute commute’s become an hour and a half commute for Jim. And by the time he’s at his apartment, he’s mentally tired.

More than once, he declared to himself that he would leave Iowa and live in Florida, and not just because of the weather.

His phone’s buzzing, and when Jim sees that it’s his mother calling him (for the third time apparently), he sighs. He loves his mother. She’s been there for him whenever he needed someone to talk to. He’s just too tired to talk now. Of course, she’ll keep bugging him until he answers, so he answers it.

“Hey, Mom,” Jim speaks, turning on the kitchen light and the lamp in the living room. “Sorry for not answering you, I just got home.”

_“They still haven’t cleaned up those streets?”_ is her reply.

“No, they don’t do that here.”

_“Well that’s a bummer,”_ his mother says. _“Are you able to visit me sometime this weekend?”_ And as Jim hears the question, he realizes that he never actually told her about his vacation.

“I’m… actually going out of town for a week,” he sighs, as he fills a pot with water, having wanted to buy something to eat on his way home. He didn’t think it was worth the extra stress on the roads. There’s a pause before Jim hears his mother again.

_“You never told me you were going out.”_

And Jim understands her concern. Jim’s her only child, and he hasn’t exactly been spared from danger when he was a young musician trying to make it in the world. He just wishes she would see that he’s not her little boy. Not like she doesn’t _try_ to see that, at least not in the last decade. He knows she tries, and so her concern doesn’t bother him as much as it used to.

“Well, I’m just going down to New Orleans.” Jim hopes will take some anxiety off of her shoulders. Turning on the stove, he looks in the fridge for frozen hot dogs, his stomach growling quite loudly.

_“Oh, well I hope you stay safe, okay?”_

“I will.”

_“Oh Jim? I… I didn’t wanna say this now, but your father has been asking of you.”_

Jim tenses and frowns. He winces at the stiffness of his neck and jaw. He bites at his cheek, to keep himself from snapping at his mother for even mentioning the man who pretty much neglected him for being himself—among other issues. 

Jim's never forgiven him. 

He sighs exasperatedly. “What did he want?”

_“Hell if I know. I told him that I wasn’t gonna give him your number without your permission.”_

“I don’t even know why you still speak to him,” Jim immediately replies, dropping two frozen hot dogs into the pot.

_“Well he hasn’t been doing so well in the last couple of years since we separated.”_

“Forgive me, but I really don’t care what he’s going through.”

After a pause, she speaks softly, _“Well, I won’t keep you any longer, hun. I hope you enjoy the trip.”_

“Thanks, Mom.” 

His mother hangs up first, and then he puts down his phone by the stove. The tiniest of bubbles rise up to the top and around the hot dogs as the water in the pot warms. He just stares at it, his head hurting again as memories of his uneasy relationship with his father rear their ugly heads. Just like those bubbles.

He’s suddenly lost his appetite.

____

The flight to New Orleans is bumpy. 

Jim has a two-hour layover at Atlanta before taking the final flight to New Orleans. Just the scent of fresh, warm air’s enough to soothe him for the rest of the journey. He makes time to text his mother that he’s okay.

He’s already aware that it’ll be over 70F in New Orleans, and with it being so humid, it may feel ten degrees hotter. And soon enough, when he walks outside of the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport, the hot and wet air smacks Jim in the face.

Although he’s visiting Downtown New Orleans, the cheapest motel he managed to book is actually on the Eastern outskirts of the city.

He’s not able to take his eyes off some of the abandoned and damaged buildings caused by Katrina.

The motel he booked looks outdated. He’s given an actual key, and the smell of bacon in his room burns his nose. At least it has air conditioning. It doesn’t kill the odor.

Soon after he gets himself settled, he orders a pizza, and when finished with that, he lets sleep take over.  
____

Day one begins on Sunday. 

Jim showers, dresses, opens his mouth wide at a mirror to inspect a cavity that’s been bothering him. He also contemplates shaving the graying beard on his face, keeping his mustache. He decides against it, and he’s actually been thinking about growing his beard.

He also decides against heading to the kitchen where the “complimentary breakfast” is being served. He’s had an awful experience with that last time.

Jim spends the day at the New Orleans Museum of Art, taking countless photos, and a security guard tells him to stop taking pictures of the contemporary art. Jim didn’t know that early 20th century art’s considered contemporary, but what the fuck does he know? He takes a quick break at a restaurant within the museum and (after grumbling at the price) helps himself to a chicken salad sandwich and tomato soup.

By the time he’s finished with the museum, he’s hungry again, and he tries gumbo for the first time. He ignores onlookers who stare as he gobbles the dish up.

He texts his mother some photos.

At sunset, Jim returns to the motel and fumbles for his room key in his jacket’s pockets and then in his jean pockets. All he finds in the end are his wallet, packet of Camel cigarettes, lighter and phone. Beginning to realize that he may have locked himself out, he doesn’t immediately hear someone calling out for him.

“Hey! You dropped your damn key!”

Jim finally turns around after the fifth time the person calls out for him, and when he sees the person coming to him, he can only blink.

The guy coming to him, the guy from the auto-shop, that guy that kept looking at Jim, stops in his tracks and blinks as well. The guy appears stiff, all of a sudden. Is this guy fucking stalking Jim?

“You must be Jim Root,” the guy speaks, his voice now soft and quiet. Jim furrows his eyebrows and fights the urge to step back from this guy.

“You… you wanna tell me how you know that?” Jim asks in a low voice, feeling even more disturbed by this tiny man.

“Oh, it’s your friend from the shop—the guy that was checking my brakes? Yeah, he told me.”

Jim will strangle Sid when he returns to Des Moines. He rolls his eyes and sighs, giving him a faint smile.

“So now you’re stalking me.”

The smaller man blinks at that and steps back. “Nonono! I wasn’t—no, I’m visiting…a friend. Yeah.” The guy lets out a nervous chuckle and scratches the back of his neck. He clears his throat and adds, “Plus, we’re going to a comic convention over the weekend here.” He puts up a slightly smug face, dimples and all. “You’re never too old to be a major geek, you know?”

“Right.” Jim then looks down at his key. “Can I have my key now?”

“Oh…” The guy immediately hands Jim his key. Jim raises an eyebrow at the guy staring at his hand. “Your hand…it’s uh, pretty large.” Another nervous chuckle. “I like your tattoos too. On your arm.”

Is this guy trying to flirt with him? More important is where did _that_ assumption come from in his head? Jim really doesn’t know whether to be amused or not. And it’s not like the guy isn’t easy on the eyes. Hell, he’s fucking hot. The guy’s got nice, somewhat-thin lips. He has short, sandy brown hair with light blue eyes and a vague five o’clock shadow. He’s almost medium built. The random tattoos are weird though, but then Jim should talk.

He sighs. “Anyway, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” The guy then looks up and smiles, “I’m Corey Taylor, by the way. You know, if you wanna hang out sometime.”

Jim hasn’t planned on it.

“Okay?”

“I’m at room two-forty-seven.” _Corey_ walks backwards and jerks his thumb back.

“Okay.”

Corey puts his hands in his pockets and then turns around and walks the other way. Jim does the same. It’s only when he reaches his room and unlocks the door, that he looks back at Corey. He stares at the guy’s nonexistent ass before Corey disappears from his view.

Dude’s weird as fuck, but Jim’d be lying to himself if he hasn’t thought about tapping that.

___

Jim spends the next two days visiting another museum, walking around Lafayette Square and taking pictures of some artists at the Jackson Square. He then found himself back in Antebellum Louisiana when he goes on a plantation tour. He doesn’t know whether to be amazed or disgusted, especially at some slave quarters.

He stops at the St. Louis Cathedral, sitting there for an hour, and he stops by a record store to buy two albums. He buys the vinyls, as he can’t stand the digitalization of music.

A musician plays his guitar a block away from the store, and Jim sighs. Didn’t he do that when he was young, strumming his guitar to Metallica and Testament? A pang of regret hits him then, hoping to not see that musician around again.

Night falls, and he’s at a small, dimly lit bar next to the motel. Most of the light source comes from LED lights at the small stage, from dimly lit ceiling lights in certain areas of the bar, and from LED votives at the bar’s countertops.

Jim’s been there once already, and has wanted to come back, because local jazz and blues bands play there. A metalhead himself, he likes to broaden his horizons sometimes. Since New Orleans is the birthplace of jazz, why not listen and learn? A group of men in their late sixties, called John Durkham’s Band, is on stage, playing some of blues’ most iconic songs.

And there’s Corey again. 

Apparently Corey thinks that Jim’s in a mood for a conversation. Jim’s just not in the mood for Corey to grovel over him, even with three beers and counting.

“Can I get a light?” Corey asks him, putting his fresh cigarette to his lips as he plops on a chair next to Jim with his own bottle. Jim takes a drag of his cigarette, pulls out his lighter and sparks the flame towards Corey. He watches Corey lean down, and the flame lights up that cigarette. An inhale later, and smoke flows out of from Corey’s pink lips. They look more luscious. “Thanks.” His voice is softer as he leans back up.

“Can I ask you something?” Jim asks before taking another sip of his beer.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Didn’t you have a friend you’re visiting?” Corey shrugs, and now Jim’s certain that Corey’s stalking him. Why does that amuse him?

“I do, but there’s been an emergency,” Corey jerks his thumb at the other end of the bar, “and the assholes over there just pissed me off, so…”

As if on cue, one of the aforementioned assholes, looking like a younger version of Tony Soprano, shouts, “Hey! Corey! Come back over here, will ya?”

“Fuck off!” Corey immediately turns around and shouts back. He grumbles as he faces Jim again and rolls his eyes. “Don’t ask, dude.”

“I won’t,” Jim replies with a chuckle. 

“Anyway, I’m not even sure if my friend’ll make it to the convention.” Corey takes another drag of his cigarette. His blue eyes stare at this cigarette, and Corey furrows his eyebrows. “Cancer sticks.”

“Whoever invented them shouldn’t have added nicotine then,” Jim murmurs as he stares out of the window.

“Oh it’s the Native Americans in both Americas,” Corey states, something Jim finds completely random. “Then us white folks started trading with them and we decided, ‘Hey! Let’s start smoking for kicks!’ That’s the short version of it.”

Jim just stares at Corey. “Okay.”

“So you’re just here just to be here, huh?”

Jim doesn’t think it’s any of Corey’s business, but he nods. 

“I thought you were getting your car fixed,” Jim says then. Corey shakes his head.

“No, I only had time to just get it inspected. I’ll get the fucker fixed when I’m back in Des Moines.” Corey takes a drag of his cigarette again. “You guys are so fucking expensive, you know that?”

“Look, I don’t control the prices,” Jim replies with a shrug, giving him another smile. Corey amuses him. 

“I know, s’my own goddamn fault for putting it off.” Jim nods to that. He’s expecting another invasive question from Corey, but then he looks up to see Corey standing up and taking a drag of his cigarette. Corey’s eyes glance down on the ground. He probably doesn’t realize that he’s standing so close to Jim. Jim’s glancing at Corey’s nonexistent hips and then at his very retro Spiderman T-shirt. 

He’s fuckable.

“Well, I won’t bother you anymore.” Corey tips his trilby to Jim and grins with his soft eyes down on Jim. “Watch for the bedbugs,” and he turns around and walks out of the bar.

And Jim? Jim’s eyes fixate on Corey’s ass and then at Corey himself, who glimpses back at Jim with parted lips and hopeful blue eyes. Both men turn away.

Jim shrugs and takes another sip.  
___

Jim yawns, returning to his room and kicking the door shut. He almost misses the bed, but when he sees it, he lies on his back. For the first time, he notices the stains on his ceiling. That might be what’s causing the smell of bacon. He’s used to it, now.

He sits up and reaches for the remote to turn on the television. A sudden and vivid picture of a woman’s red lips sucking a cock makes Jim pulls his head back at the sight.

He hasn’t touched himself at all since coming to this city. Might as well make the most of the video.

He sits back against the pillows and headboard and unfastens his jeans. Whipping out his cock, he ignores the woman and focuses on the muscled tattooed man who moans when she sits on his cock. He slowly strokes himself off when the camera closes in on the actor’s cock, but it’s also focused on the girl’s clit, and Jim sighs. He turns off the television. This isn’t working. It’s the only porn channel available and they only show straight or lesbian porn.

He’s still horny though, and he can’t even think of any man while he touches himself again. He sighs and gives up. His cock, however, isn’t.

So, he’s at Corey’s door. It’s still humid, so he’s left his jacket in his room. After a few knocks, the door finally opens and Corey looks up at him. Corey’s eyes widen just a bit at the sight of Jim. The blush on Corey’s face is pretty obvious. Jim’s so amused, and he can’t hide it.

“Um, hi!” Corey chirps, standing up straight.

Jim’s leaning against the doorframe, and he clears his throat. He whispers, “I’m kinda drunk.”

“Well yeah, so am I. We both had quite a few beers,” Corey replies quietly with a chuckle, looking down and scratching the back of his neck. Then after a pause, Corey’s chin’s tucked down towards his chest as he looks upward at Jim again, smile gone. He steps back away just an inch away from Jim, holding on to the door. “You… you didn’t come here just to say that, did you?” His voice’s a mere whisper.

Jim steps inside Corey’s air-conditioned room, and as Corey steps back, Jim slams the door behind him. The cool air hits his skin like a train, and he shivers a bit, trying to ignore the goosebumps on his skin. After all, six beers have never made him so bold. He just makes it clear why he’s here with one simple word.

“No.”

He wraps an arm around Corey’s waist and pulls him closer, and after he hears a _gulp_ from Corey, he’s pulled down into a kiss. Corey’s trembling hands cup Jim’s face. As they break the kiss, he eyes at Corey becoming redder across the face, breathing heavily and staring wide-eyed at him. He must’ve made Corey so in _awe_ of what just happened. After all, anyone would feel like that if they got to kiss their crush. It’s been so obvious from the very beginning that Corey’s been crushing on him.

Listening to his dick, wanting to feel those lips again, he cups Corey’s face, and they kiss again, deeper. And another kiss, and another. Each kiss and Corey's touches—on his face and neck, through his hair or against his chest—leave tingling sensations all through his body. It all but leaves Jim breathless and insatiable. He thrusts his tongue against Corey’s, and he tastes peppermint, Corona and cigarettes. He also tastes Corey’s gasp and trembling sigh.

It almost scares Jim.

They’re at the bed, and Jim pushes Corey off of him. He starts unfastening his jeans when Corey sits back up on his knees, cupping Jim’s face. He closes his eyes to the kiss and Corey’s tongue brushed against his lips. He lets out a silent moan to Corey’s lips on his neck. Glancing at Corey pausing to take off his shirt gives Jim the opportunity to whip out his cock from his boxers. He sees Corey blink at the sight. There are various tattoos all over Corey, and Jim leans in, kissing the two small symbols in either side of Corey’s neck. Warm fingers brush against his cock, and he hums against Corey’s skin. Corey’s grip becomes firmer, and Jim takes that hand and the other on his neck off of him. And Corey doesn’t fight back. 

They’re both panting, and Jim looks up at Corey.

“You’ve done this before?” he breathes. After Corey nods (not a “yes” or a “yeah,” but a nod), Jim holds up his cock with the nonverbal request. He glances down at Corey biting his lip before Corey leans down and wraps those pink lips around his crown. Jim shivers at the contact, and lets out a silent moan as Corey takes his cock further into his mouth. 

He combs his fingers through Corey’s fair hair as pleasure ripples away down his spine to his groin. Blue eyes look up at him, and Corey’s bobbing his head, hallowing his cheeks. Jim feels like he might fall.

He moans. It trembles.

Fuck, he can't remember the last time he made such a sound or when his legs felt like jello from pleasure possessing his body. It’s frightening, and every vein in his body aches.

He takes his cock out of Corey’s mouth, and he pushes Corey down on his back. He wastes no time pulling Corey’s jeans and boxers down, and Corey wastes no time kicking them off.

Jim’s not cold anymore in this room. In fact, he’s burning up. Too self-conscious about his body, he opts to suffer over taking off his clothes. He climbs on the bed, spreading Corey’s legs and places his hand over his hardened cock. Rubbing it, Jim bites his lip at the sight of Corey pushing his head against the bed and letting out a soft moan.

Jim’s hair in front of his face keeps obstructing his view, so he whips his hair to one side and leans down for a full kiss, both of them closing their eyes. Corey’s warm hand cups his face. They pant in-between kisses, and Jim opens his eyes a little to see Corey’s half-lidded eyes piercing at him. Corey’s heart pounds under Jim’s hand. His hand soon moves from Corey’s cock, to his balls, and down to his entrance.

Jim watches Corey gasp when his middle finger enters him. A blush appears across Corey’s face, and Jim bites his lip as Corey’s tight and hot walls clench around his finger. Corey tilts his head back, shuts his eyes, lets out a high pitched moan, and Jim dives down and nibbles against one of Corey’s pierced earlobes.

Fucking Corey with his finger, Jim leans down, as much as his height can allow, to nibble against Corey’s pierced nipples. He hears Corey cry, and he fucks him faster and harder. Jim returns to his lips as they pant into each other's lips. Corey moans again and again against Jim's mouth.

Jim moans too, wanting to just pound him with his cock, feel those hot walls clench around it like they’re doing to his finger.

The kisses have slowed for some time, and save their breathing and Corey’s noises, the silence’s deafening. His stomach flutters, and he knows it’s because of the way Corey’s looking at him so lovingly. 

They’re not making love. Why does Corey look at him like they are?

Jim sits up, takes the finger out of Corey and before Corey can protest, he turns him over on his stomach. 

Gripping Corey’s asscheeks, spreading them open so that his hole’s in full view, Jim looks around for something, _anything_ to use as lube. How convenient for a small tub of vaseline to be on that night stand.

Jim reaches for it, just as Corey positions himself on all fours at the headboard, and Jim uses two slicked fingers against Corey’s hole, fucking him slow. Jim might be horny and drunk, but he’s not inconsiderate. Corey lets out soft whimpers, rocking those hips against Jim’s fingers. Jim deems him stretched and ready, and spreads vaseline over his cock. He feels like he’s in a sauna.

Spreading Corey’s legs and positioning himself, and gripping Corey’s hip with one hand, he guides his cock inside with another. He pushes in, and he immediately hears a gasp and a whimper from Corey. Jim himself bites his lip to hold back a groan as he stretches Corey’s tight, hot walls. He finally lets out a moan laced with Corey’s. His walls clench against Jim’s throbbing cock, and Jim closes his eyes to the sensation ripping through his body, panting as he bottoms out. 

Holy _shit_.

“You’re okay down there?” he whispers to Corey, looking over at the guy. Corey’s trembling.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Corey breathes out, the first words he’s ever said since Jim came into the room and wrapped his arm around him. Jim makes sure he’s careful as he pulls out just a bit, pushing himself back in. Corey responds with a strangled moan, gripping at the headboard. Jim runs his fingers through Corey’s damp hair.

The room may’ve been air-conditioned, but the humidity’s still hovering about in this room. Corey’s tattooed back’s collecting sweat down his spine. A mixture of musk and cinnamon—Jim can’t tell if that’s from a shampoo or cologne— burns his nose. Yet, he can’t stop inhaling.

“Good,” he whispers as he leans down and nibbles against one of Corey’s ears, closing his eyes. He sets a good pace going, and as he ghosts his lips against Corey’s neck, Jim rolls his hips. Corey’s struggling to keep his moans down.

Someone screaming at the top of their lungs usually annoys Jim, but he wants it from Corey. He picks up the pace, and finally, Corey whines, moving with him, riding his dick. 

“Oh god,” Corey moans, hanging his head low as he rolls his small ass with Jim’s hips. The combined hip-movements, and the feeling of Corey convulsing around his throbbing cock make Jim let out a trembling sigh.

Now that’s more like it.

He keeps himself close to Corey as he picks up the pace, hearing Corey cry as Jim hits his spot. The bed squeaks, and his balls slap against Corey’s. It all but leaves Jim insatiable, and he fucks him harder, and faster. Corey cries each time. Pretty soon, Jim hears Corey pleading him to fuck him. 

Harder. Faster. 

Give it to him. 

Praying and cursing to God.

Jim reaches around Corey and strokes his dick in tune with his thrusts, and before long he feels Corey cum as he screams.

“Fu-huck!” Corey cries again, bucking his hips. 

Jim’s annoyed that it hasn’t lasted that long, but he leans up, and squeezing Corey’s hips, pounds his hole. He closes his eyes as he moans, thrusting until he’s sent over the edge. He whimpers.

He wrenches himself out of Corey, ignoring his cry. He cums on Corey’s ass, vigorously jerking himself off, groaning. When he feels that no more of his seed’s coming out, he takes his cock and pushes himself in again.

Their moans and whimpers lace together as Jim fucks Corey, riding out their orgasms. He guides Corey’s face towards him, fucking his mouth with his tongue.

He tastes Corey’s delicious whimper as Corey thrusts his tongue back, and the tongue-play turns into a closed-mouth kiss. Jim slows his thrusts, just as Corey slows down his.

They break the kiss, panting, and Jim leans up and pulls out of Corey. Corey collapses on the bed, on his stomach. Jim lies down as well, but on his back. His shirt’s covered in sweat around the neck, and he brushes his hair back, away from his damp forehead.

As their breathing slowed, it dawns on Jim that he never asked Corey if he was clean. A moment later, he decides that Corey doesn’t seem like a dishonest person, and if Corey has a disease, he would’ve said something.

The chill air in the room makes him sleepy.

___

Thunder wakes up Jim the next morning.

And he’s in his own bed. In an instant, he winces from the stabbing pain in his head, and he just swears.

His bedsheets and duvet are still neatly made, and he’s still in the clothes he wore last night. Jim remembers that he walked out of Corey’s room, staggered on to his own room and just plopped himself on the bed and fell asleep.

Time for a shower. But first, some aspirin.

A change of clothes, shower and aspirins later, Jim walks out to find that it’s indeed raining, and heavily. He manages to dodge a mosquito. The air’s stifling, worse than last night, and by the time he walks down to the first floor, he’s wiping sweat off of his forehead. Checking his bank account on his phone, he grumbles; he’s spent a bit too much during the vacation.

Jim grimaces at the thought of eating the motel’s free food. He also grimaces at the thought of spending ten dollars on pancakes and sausages. In the end, his need to tone down his spending wins over his need for good, cooked breakfast.

It’s at this moment when Jim remembers exactly what happened with him and Corey after they fucked:

The room was silent—the only sound was loud television from next door. He almost fell asleep on Corey’s bed. Until Corey brought his arm around him and attempted to snuggle. Jim then sat up, pulled up his jeans and said, “See you later.” And he walked out.

As Jim nears the door to the dining room, he thinks he saw Corey blinking up at him and watching him walk out last night. He can’t tell if the look on Corey’s face was a look of sadness, or tiredness. He almost feels bad for taking advantage of Corey’s crush on him for a good fuck. But as he thinks back to how Corey’s hot lips felt around his cock, and how Corey’s tight and hot ass convulsed around his cock as he moaned like one of those twinks in gay porn, Jim can’t help but decide that it was mind-fucking-blowing. 

The cuddling, however, was something he wanted to avoid altogether. That’s why he ran out of there.

The door opens from the inside, and Jim blinks at none other than Corey himself. Corey’s hair’s combed back, he’s wearing yet another Spiderman shirt, and his eyes widen with his pink lips parted. Then, Corey gives Jim a smug look and jerks his thumb behind him.

“Dude, this guy in there’s crying about a fucking _voodoo_ curse he’s under,” are Corey’s words. Jim pulls his head back.

“What?”

“Some guy claimed a voodoo priestess cursed him and now he can’t stop using the toiler.” Corey then walks past him, umbrella and all. He opens up that umbrella, turns around, walks backwards, spins his finger towards his head, and mouths, “Insane.” And then he’s gone.

It takes a moment for those words—the entire interaction between them—to sink in, and Jim slowly opens the door to the dining room. Sitting at a table, far away from the man that’s indeed crying about being cursed, Jim’s perplexed, almost disappointed, even. 

Corey’s acting as if nothing happened between them _at all._

___

They call the Saint Louis Cemetery the “City of The Dead.”

The tombs are above-ground, many styled like houses. The constant rain and thunder only makes Jim feel like he’s in a Southern Gothic horror novel. With his umbrella, he’s spent over an hour looking through the names of the deceased, most of them from the 18th century. He’s wanted to take photos, but it’s impossible holding his phone while holding his umbrella.

Why couldn’t any of the cemeteries in Des Moines be this fucking awesome? Sure, Des Moines doesn’t have that problem that New Orleans has of being below sea level, but still.

“James?” A female voice calls.

Jim turns around and sees a tiny woman, around his age, carrying her umbrella. Her hair’s dark. She’s blinking at him. Jim’s eyes soften.

“Cristina.” He smiles. She does too.

Another fifteen minutes pass, with the two talking, mostly about how Cristina’s family is doing in Milan, Italy; why she’s here in New Orleans, etcetera. She laments about not being able to take photos either, but she knows it’ll be dry tomorrow.

“I don’t really have time to wait for that,” Jim replies. “My vacation’s over after today, you know?” 

“Are you still in Des Moines?” Cristina asks him.

“Basically.” Jim shrugs. “I mean, I’ve tried to move out, but I just can’t. Mom would be lonely, you know, so I’ve been living there.”

Cristina isn’t the first to ask him this, but each time, Jim would say that he doesn’t want to make his mother lonely. After all, Kathy’s family’s in Las Vegas. She only moved to Des Moines because Jerry found a good job there. And when Jim asked her one day, after the divorce, why she never moved back, she told him that she can’t deal with the extreme heat.

“I mean, I’m fine, really. I’m already planning my next vacation six months from now.”

Cristina chirps, “Where are you going then?”

“Probably to Las Vegas.”

“Do you always travel so far away?”

“Well, I can’t afford a trip to Europe, so…” Jim shrugs. They stop walking then, in front of an elaborate tomb of a Farquhar.

“I thought that was Peyton for a second,” Cristina chuckles. Jim raises an eyebrow.

“Who?”

“You never read _Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge_ in school? The character’s name was Peyton Farquhar, and it’s the Civil War and he’s about to be hanged by the Northern soldiers…” 

Jim watches her as she continues summarizing the story. She hasn’t changed. Her accent still slips out of her red lips, and her warm, brown eyes still shine.

“And he’s about to kiss his wife, but his head snaps back, and we’re told that he’s hanged. Like he was fantasizing his escape the entire time,” she finishes.

“You know what, I think the Twilight Zone showed that once, I just didn’t know it was based on a story,” Jim says, staring at the tomb.

“Maybe that’s what you’re doing,” Cristina whispers, her eyes not leaving the tomb. “You’re content with distracting yourself like Peyton, so you take all these trips whenever the opportunity hits.”

Jim turns to her then and asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?” He sees her smile fade, then.

“After you ended our relationship, you went over to Seattle.”

Jim indeed made a trip there, four years ago.

“Actually, I went there for a concert,” he replies. Cristina turns to him, now.

“What a coincidence that concert was around the time you broke up with me.”

“Why are you bringing this up, Cris?” Before Cristina can respond, Jim continues, “To make me feel guilty for not wanting to be in a relationship?” To be fair, he could’ve just ended it without screwing some guy at a party beforehand. Jim’s rubbing his forehead, wiping away sweat. The air’s stifling, and this conversation is not helping matters.

“I forgave you a long time ago, Jim.”

Jim glances back at Cristina and asks, “Why?” 

It’s like she’s finally giving him her blessing to be _himself_.

“So I can move on and be happy. I’m…” she pauses, “engaged to Joel, and the date’s in four months.” She shrugs. “I’m happy with him.” She glances at Jim then. “Look, I only mentioned the Seattle thing as an example. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry.” Jim knows she’s telling the truth. “Are you with someone?”

“No.” Joel Ekman? Is Cristina serious? The guy doesn’t even know how to flirt let alone fuck. 

Why is he even mad about this?

“I hope you do find that special someone one day, Jim.” She takes a deep breath and grins. It’s a sad grin. “Well, I gotta dash. There’s a show on, and I told him I’d meet him there.” She steps back and walks off, saying, “See you around Jim.”

Jim just waves back, and then he glares at the fucking tomb.

___

“You look like shit, partner.”

Jim glances at the bartender, narrowing his eyes at him. “The fuck asked you?” The bartender pulls his head back at that and walks off, calling Jim an asshole. 

He’s so pissed off, his bottle of beer—the only one he’s had so far—sits there, getting warm. And each sip brings a nasty bitter taste in his mouth. Asking the bartender for ice isn’t an option since he was rude to him.

“Fuck…” he swears under his breath.

He came to New Orleans to have a stress-free week. That includes not running into people in the past that just love to remind him that he’s a piece of shit. He knows Cristina didn’t do that on purpose, but it doesn’t hurt any less. 

But what he hates about her the most is that she’s once again able to fucking see right through him. She’s the only one who’s been able to do that.

But so _what_ if he’s taking trips whenever he can away from Des Moines so he can escape! People do that all the time, even if it’s escaping from memories and constant reminders of a painful past. It’s better than drugging oneself to death, or suicide—or murder.

He sighs, taking a drag of his cigarette. His mind jumps to that night Cristina caught him and arguing erupted between them. She was in tears, and Jim had a massive headache. He told her that he never thought they were exclusive.

And then Cristina, hurt and angry but genuinely concerned Cristina, just had to ask him whether or not someone hurt him in the past. He stormed out, and that was the last they spoke. He never thought that that might’ve been the reason for his hatred of monogamy until that night. And he did all he can to repress it.

But now it’s simmering up into his brain again, and he’s pissed at himself now. He’s forty. He should’ve been over this years ago. The Farquhar character is actually pretty fortunate that he dies from hanging, and not here in the modern world ruminating over relationship problems. But the sting in his neck bothers Jim just the same from the tension, except not so severe that he dies. He’s been rubbing the back of his neck for awhile now. He hates it when his anger causes him health problems.

He glances to his left and slowly blinks. The object is none other than Corey Taylor, sitting at a table towards the other side of the bar. There’s a certain sadness in this guy’s eyes. Maybe it’s because Jim ran out on him. Jim would consider that more in depth, except his cock twitches. He can’t stop staring at the frown in those pink lips. And now he can’t stop wanting those lips on his dick.

Even though he’s far from Corey, he clearly spots his hard nipples poking out of his Captain America t-shirt.

He nubs his cigarette butt in the ashtray, and leaves his warm beer behind. Beer can’t do anything for him at this point.

When he sees Corey standing up, probably to leave the bar, Jim walks faster to him.

He reaches for Corey’s wrist, and Corey turns around and blinks at him.

“Hey, what’s up—”

“Shut up,” Jim mutters. He drags him out towards the door. He expects Corey to try pulling away from him and ask for an explanation.

Corey does neither.

___

Those pink, wet lips wrap around Jim’s red cock like an embrace and just suckle the negative thoughts out of him. 

Corey’s naked, kneeling on the floor in front of him. Jim’s sitting back on the bed, running a hand through Corey’s fair hair. He bites his lip to keep himself from letting out sounds. He hears a moan from Corey. Corey hallows his cheeks and bobs his head up and down Jim’s cock, using his fingers for the base. Jim groans and shuts his eyes.

He uses his other arm for support, to keep from lying on his back. The room’s cool, the air conditioner running at full capacity. He still feels like he’s outside in the humid air. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he looks down at Corey, who’s staring up at him, still bobbing his head as his tongue does the work.

Jim could cum in Corey’s mouth right then and there. And what’s more, they’re not drunk this time. Some of the images from their first time are lost on Jim because they were drunk then. Now, he can see Corey’s freckled shoulders, tattoos covering up much of his soft skin.

Taking his cock out of Corey’s mouth, he leans down and kisses those wet and swollen lips. He ignores the strain on his back, parting Corey’s lips with his thumb and kisses him hard, tongue licking tongue. He hears Corey moan again. The kisses stop just long enough for Corey to get up and straddle Jim. Jim looks up at him, closing his eyes as Corey nibbles the shell of one of his ears. He wraps an arm around Corey’s waist as he scoots himself further into the bed, kicking off his tennis shoes. The veins in his fingers flutter as they caress Corey’s ass.

Corey cups Jim’s face and dives down for a full kiss. Jim pulls away, turns and licks his way up Corey’s jaw. He glances up at Corey’s parted lips and his eyes shut tight, and he leans down even more, suckles on both of Corey’s tender nipples, and paints his tongue on Corey’s chest tattoo. He’s been curious about the meaning of any of those tattoos since their first night. But it would’ve involved talking about their first time, and Corey didn’t seem interested.

Corey’s little hairs on his chest feel like sandpaper to Jim’s face, but Jim thrills in that, breathing against Corey’s nipples and closing his eyes. Corey’s pants and moans leave Jim even more insatiable. Corey’s fingers through his scalp just feel so fucking good. His cock’s cold and throbbing so much it almost hurts, and he wants in Corey’s tight hole. Or he might lose it.

Their lips find their way back to each other. Jim’s hand around Corey’s waist lowers down to his ass, and he grips it tight. Corey gasps against Jim’s lips and pulls away to look Jim in the eyes. Jim cocks his head to the side and smiles, biting his teeth. He brings his other hand to Corey’s ass, and he sees Corey smile back with tender blue eyes.

“S’my last night here,” Jim whispers against Corey’s lips. Indeed, his suitcase is by the dresser, with all keys on the dresser. He ghosts Corey’s lips with his own, and he breathes in the man’s cigarettes and mint. He’s dizzy from that alone; he’s on cloud nine. He then whispers, “So, I wanted to say goodbye.” He caresses Corey’s entrance with his middle finger.

“Oh…” is Corey’s response before Jim brushes their lips for a full kiss.

Hearing Corey’s sighs as he’s playing with his entrance, Jim soon stops and reaches for a tube of lubricant on his nightstand. He applies the gel into two of his fingers, and he slides them inside.

“Oh yeah…” Corey breathes, and soon enough, he’s riding Jim’s fingers. He reaches for Jim’s cock and thumbs the slit. They glance at each other, and Jim bites Corey’s lower lip with a faint smile. Corey smiles back at him, panting.

To see Corey rolling his hips as he goes up and down Jim’s fingers like that, clenching those muscles around those fingers… holy shit. He parts his lips and sighs at the feel of Corey kissing his neck, and he wants to see him do to his dick what he’s doing to his fingers. Corey moans louder against Jim’s ear. 

“Wanna ride you…” Jim hears Corey murmur. He nuzzles against his neck, planting kisses on a kanji tattoo on the left side of Corey’s neck. He feels Corey’s hands slide under his shirt, and all he can do is purr. He cocks his head up at Corey again. Corey’s pupils are dilated in those soft eyes.

“Yeah?”

Corey’s response is a sharp moan, the kind one hears in a porn video. Fuck…

“I want you to,” Jim whispers and nibbles his way up Corey’s jaw.

“Yeah?”

Corey nuzzles against his neck, and Jim just purrs at the contact. There’s the smell of cinnamon, musk and old cigarettes again. Jim inhales, loving it, wanting more. Corey’s so gentle and wanting, and Jim’s loving it. He turns and nibbles against Corey’s neck again, loving the sound Corey makes. He couldn’t tell last time whether that cinnamon smell was shampoo or cologne, and now he knows it’s cologne.

He reaches for the lube again, this time for himself. He reaches around Corey to apply the gel on his aching cock, and then he gently slaps his dick against Corey’s entrance. He can tell that Corey’s all too happy to tease him by moving his ass against Jim’s dick. But then, Corey takes his cock and lowers down on it, as slow as he can.

Jim whines at the hot tightness, embracing Corey as he hears a whine from Corey himself. Corey sinks all the way down but isn’t doesn’t move yet, perhaps to get used to the feeling. And then he sees Corey clutching the hem of his shirt and moving it up. A sudden cloud of self-consciousness causes Jim to grab Corey’s wrists. 

“No,” he whispers. Corey’s body, while not muscular or full of abs, is beautiful, and not even the man’s big neck can take that away. Jim’s never been comfortable showing his body to anyone. The last time he’s ever shown his entire body to someone was…

Corey turns his wrists around and entwines his fingers with Jim’s. Before long, Corey begins to move, slow. Jim finds himself on his back, and before he knows it, Corey has his shirt all the way up to his neck, exposing his chest and belly.

Jim has a subtle spare tire’s belly, and his chest hair makes a narrow path down to Corey’s cock which leaks with precum. As Jim tilts his head back and moans at the way Corey’s setting the perfect rhythm, he looks up at blinks at Corey’s wide eyes and parted lips at his naked chest.

“You’re so fucking beautiful….” he hears Corey moan, running his hands up and down Jim’s belly. Jim’s so confused about how a spare-tire belly is beautiful to Corey. He can’t even understand what Corey sees in _him_.

Corey rocks his hips back and forth and thumbs against both nipples, and the sensation brings out butterflies in Jim’s stomach. Then Corey dives down and tongues against them. The sudden hot contact makes Jim arch his back and groan, and he grabs Corey’s hips, guiding them.

Corey’s tilting his head back and moaning, and Jim can’t help but look up at the sight. Corey’s so attractive. Now those locks of hair almost covering Corey’s eyes, those tender pink nipples, those fucking lips—he’s gorgeous. Corey has a sexy voice. The gasps and moans and whines that come out of those pink lips turn him on more than the sounds others made when they’re with him.

Corey sits up, resting his hands on Jim’s chest. Jim grips Corey’s waist, and his mouth parts at the sight of Corey rolling his hips, almost like a fucking belly dancer. Corey’s bringing Jim’s hands to his chest, and his eyes close. He tilts his head back and moans Jim’s name.

The feel of Corey’s insides clenching around his throbbing cock when works those hips brings out a loud moan from Jim. He’s never felt this horny.

“Fuck… ride me…” Jim finds himself pleading to Corey. And Corey does, harder and faster. Jim suffocates under his jeans and underwear still around his legs, so he attempts to kick them off. Corey must’ve known what Jim’s trying to do, because he looks behind, reaching over to nudge those jeans down a bit. After Jim gets those off of him, Corey caresses Jim’s balls, and Jim hums, guiding Corey’s hips with his hands again.

Corey alternates between a look of pleasure and one of pain (though Jim knows Corey’s not in pain at all). His face flushed, Corey brushes his damp hair back with both hands, still rolling his hips. Each moan comes out each time he sinks down on Jim. Then, Corey chants, “Yes, yes, yes…” as he quickens his pace, throwing his head back.

Jim’s tried not to thrust his hips up, but the urge to do so becomes too much, and he fucks Corey as Corey sinks down each time. Corey lets out a high-pitched cry.

“Ohmgod! Fuck me…” Jim bites his lip at Corey’s words, loving it, loving that he can make someone beg and cry like this. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…” The squeaking bed accompanies Corey’s chants.

Soon, those chants devolve into gasps and the occasional sobs as Corey bounces up and down on Jim’s dick. Jim presses his head against the bed and moans loudly.

Someone next door bangs on the wall.

_“Some of us are trying to sleep here!”_

Jim picks up his head at that, and then he lies back down, shaking his head. He wanted to tell the guy the same thing when that guy brought some girl over last night.

Corey snickers, and all Jim can do is raise an eyebrow at him.

“You think that’s funny?”

Corey just chuckles, brushing his hair back. Jim shakes his head at him, eyes glued to him.

“That’s not funny.”

“Not funny?” Corey replies, his voice hoarse. “It’s fucking hilarious!” When Jim closes his eyes and sighs exasperatedly, he hears Corey add, “You need a sense of humor.” Jim looks up at him with a faint smile.

“Baby, I _do_ have a sense of humor,” he replies in a low tone, running his hands up Corey’s chest again. He sees Corey avoiding his gaze with a blush by looking down, with one hand scratching the back of his neck before he looks up at Jim again.

“Then,” he whispers, “you should use it, you know?” A tiny smile’s on Corey’s face.

Jim smirks to that and slaps Corey’s ass. Corey gasps with a smile.

God, this guy is so fucking adorable.

Corey must’ve taken the hint, because he slowly rocks his hips again. Jim hums and relaxes, thrusting in time with Corey’s hips. He begs Corey to ride him again, and Corey doesn’t disappoint as he rolls those hips. Those muscles convulse and brush around Jim’s dick, and Jim tilts his head back and moans in a high-pitch.

“You feel so fucking good…” he whines as Corey rides him harder and faster. He thrills at the feeling of Corey grinding against his groin. He closes his eyes, a grin on his face. “God, you feel so good.”

All the trips to museums and the food and New Orleans can’t compare to this. He’s having _fun_. Well, Jim’s always loved sex, but this isn’t just about getting himself off, now. He’s enjoying another person’s company. Corey’s funny, cute, sexy. He’s loved it when Corey tried to flirt with him a few days back, and that sense of loneliness that Jim’s been trying to repress all week is gone.

He finds himself pulled up close to Corey, and he relishes in his body brushed against Corey’s. He supports himself with both arms, and thrusts upward. Corey nuzzles against his neck and whimpers.

Jim just happens to turn to his left, and there he is in the mirror. His naked body glistened with sweat with Corey’s glistening body bouncing up and down his cock. He immediately turns away, hiding inside Corey’s arms as his insecurity comes back.

Corey must have noticed, because he gently turns Jim’s chin up and glances at the mirror.

“Oh baby, look at us,” he whispers. And Jim does.

He still doesn’t want to look at himself, so he focuses on Corey instead. With Corey throwing his head back and letting out a cry, it’s like watching porn. Only, Corey’s the porn star, the cute bottom.

Then Corey trembles, pushing Jim down on his back and pants erratically before he cries out. He cums on Jim’s belly, his mouth shaped like an “O” before he sobs and bucks his hips. Jim bites his lips at the sight, thrusting and letting Corey ride out his orgasm. He soon slows down his thrusts, until Corey’s finished.

After a minute, he stills those hips and fucks Corey hard and fast. He bites his lip and closes his eyes, basking in the cries that come out of Corey’s lips and the squeaking from the bed. His own moans lace with Corey’s. He doesn’t give a fuck if that guy from next door bangs on the wall again. He’s never let himself go like this, with anyone, until Corey. He wants to experience every fucking second. He pants shakily.

Jim then feels tingling inside his cock, and he tilts his head back and groans loudly. He brings Corey’s hands to his chest, to his nipples.

"Touch me!" he breathes. And Corey does, thumbing his nipples. Corey then leans down and kisses his mouth, tongue and all. Jim moans again and again, while Corey rides him again, brushing Jim's hair with his fingers. The touches against his scalp—along with those lips against his neck and ear become unbearable for Jim, and he grimaces from tingling feeling down his cock again.

And with a soft whine, he comes hard.


End file.
